


(And the truth is) Baby, You're All That I Need

by adia90



Series: Something For The Pain [4]
Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, References to Depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-27 20:22:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17168774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adia90/pseuds/adia90
Summary: Christmas Eve, some time in the future.





	(And the truth is) Baby, You're All That I Need

**_Spring 2021._ **

Scott rubs his eyes from the sleep and booze, blinking at the lights filtering through the curtain.

He’s not at home.

The blonde lying next to him is loudly snoring, and Scott snorts. So much for sex appeal.

He sobers up immediately. Remembering the night that he had. Drowning his sorrow with JD and Wiser’s 18, it feels that lately it has been a recurring theme. It started a few weeks ago, leading up to yesterday, the day she finally, _finally_ got away…

His phone rings. And rings. Groaning, he reaches for his jeans and pulls out the offending contraption.

“Lo,” he grouses. “It’d better be something important, Charlie. It’s 5 fucking am.”

“Scott. Get yourself to UH. Tessa and Sam were in an accident.”

* * *

He runs his hand through his hair, multiple times. It took him forty minutes to reach London from Sarnia, where he was nursing his pain. Nobody paid much attention to him when he checked in to Canatara Beach Resort a week before.

_“What the fuck, Charlie?! What do you mean they were in an accident? Are you fucking playing with me?”_

_“I’m not playing with you, Scott. They were leaving for an early morning flight for their honeymoon, and a drunk driver swerved into them.”_

_“Oh my God. Oh my God. Fuck! How’s T?!”_

_“Tess is in the OT.”_

_“Sam?!”_

_“Sam… I’m afraid he didn’t make it, Scott.”_

What the fuck is happening? It feels like he is in the Twilight Zone, or maybe an episode of Punk’d, where he is sure Ashton Kutcher is going to jump out from behind the nurse counter and laughs at his face. He looks up to see Kate sobbing into her palms, comforted by an equally sobbing Jordan. Kevin and Casey are standing on other ends of the hallway, one on his phone, the other just staring aimlessly at the ceiling.

Charlie and his parents are sitting by his side, Alma weeping on Joe’s shoulder. It’s been months since the last time he saw them. After learning of Tessa’s engagement, he ran back to Montreal, to avoid reality and to avoid running into the happy couple. He had received the invitation for the wedding, but he didn’t RSVP, and that left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Tessa had tried keeping in touch, texting him every now and then, but he felt it so hard to reply and pretend that every thing was okay. How could he pretend that his heart wasn’t breaking every time he entertained the thoughts of Tessa with another man; another man making her laugh-cry, the one sound he’s loved so much, another man kissing her pouty lips, her gorgeous eyes, her blushing cheeks. Another man bringing her pleasure, hearing her moan, having her clenched around his cock.

When he thinks back to that night in July, almost three years ago, he wishes he could have done things differently. He wishes he could kiss her reassuringly, telling her to take her time, instead of yelling in her face about her insecurities and indifferences, about how she was such a coldhearted _bitch_. He wishes he could undo the tears she had shed that night, hearing his accusation, when she had simply asked for time before taking the next step in their relationship.

_“Two decades and you’re still unsure about me? What the fuck, Tess? Don’t the past few years mean anything to you?”_

_“Of course they do, Scott. But I want us to enter this next chapter in our lives fully conscious of our decisions, not because it is something that is expected of us, not because it’s convenient, not because you are here next to me and I am here next to you. This is forever, Scott. I want you to be sure of me,” she had begged._

_“Are you saying that you’re not sure of me?” he yelled, anger filling him._

_She started sobbing. “Scott…”_

_“I wasted three years with you, T. Three fucking years fully invested in our relationship, and this is it?”_

_She shook her head, denying him. “You’re taking it all wrong, Scott. I love you! You are everything!”_

He went out of her home that night, straight to the Tavern, and right into Jackie’s arms, who was back for her grandmother’s funeral.

And because of his idiocy, she had almost taken her own life, something he could never forgive himself for, and driven her straight into Sam’s heart.

* * *

“You’ve been here for days, Scott. Go home,” Kate coaxes.

“I can’t, Kate. I don’t want leave her again.”

“Scott, she knows you’re here. It’s enough. She’s just not up for visitors for now. Please understand,” she pleads.

He drops his head. He knows. “I know. I just want to feel her. I only feel her presence here.”

* * *

**_Summer 2021_ **

Days are too long. He used to really love summer. Off season means going back to Ilderton. No training, no shows. Maybe take a long holiday off in the Caribbean somewhere, like what he did with the previous three girlfriends that he had.

He shakes his head. How fucking corny. He wondered why not one of his exes questioned why he kept on bringing them to the same place. How fucking unlikely that it wasn’t common knowledge that that it was how he operated? He pulled the same stunt in December 2018, just to one up Tess, and he knew how brokenhearted she was, after the year that they had together.

He was the master of all pettiness. He _created_ the word ‘petty’. So totally opposite to Tessa. Always forgiving, always smiling.

Nowadays summer is just watching Tessa from afar, as she treks daily to the cemetery above Mount Pleasant, with a single white rose clutched in her hands. Her hair is longer, luminous in her original light brown hue, sparkling under the hot sun. Sometimes the wind blows through her hair, and she reaches to tuck it behind her ear, when the light caught the emerald on her finger.

She goes by Tessa Virtue-Harwood now. At least, that was what the newspapers printed when the drunk driver that plowed into them was brought to court. He attended the day of the sentencing, trying to spot her familiar head. She wasn’t in the crowd, he found out later, when the prosecutor announced that she couldn’t bring herself to be there but had written a letter instead.

“Your honor, allow me to read Mrs. Virtue-Harwood’s letter addressed to the defendant, as per requested by her.”

The chamber hushed in silence.

“Go ahead, counsellor.”

_“Dear Brian,_

_I am sorry I am unable to attend the last day of your hearing. I know it must be the worst day of your life, and I understand the feeling because I went through mine about three months ago. My husband of twelve hours had left me all of the sudden, taking my heart and my soul with him. I am barely living, because he was the one who kept me alive, even literally once._

_We had so many plans, the both of us, starting with a trip to Bali, for our honeymoon. Later, we would come back and work on our 2.5 children. We even bought a house not far from town for that particular reason. Then we would want to conquer the world, one pace at a time together. Grow old side by side, playing bingo, maybe sipping dirty Shirley with that fancy toothpick umbrellas while hanging out in front of Huron._

_I had three years with him, three glorious glorious years, and all of the sudden, my heart and dreams are shattered._

_I learned about you being sacked leading to your drinking that fateful night. I was in your shoes plenty of times; disappointment used to be a close friend of mine. I know you didn’t wish for any ill to come to anybody. I know you didn’t mean to be behind the wheels and I know you didn’t plan to get anybody killed._

_This guilt about being the one still alive and breathing won’t go away within a day. It will take time, but I pray that you get your absolution._

_I forgive you, Brian, for what happened three months ago. Moving forward, I hope you can eventually forgive yourself._

_Tessa Virtue-Harwood."_   
_August, 2021_

* * *

**_Autumn 2021_ **

He stands and waits for her to barrel into him.

“Oh shit. I’m sorry,” she apologises, finally looking up. Her eyes widen. God, how he misses those gorgeous green.

He attempts a smile, while trying his best not to spook her by grabbing her into a hug. “Hi, T.”

“Hi, Scott. Sorry, I wasn’t watching,” she apologises again.

“It’s okay,” he replies, tucking his hands into his pockets, resisting the urge to touch her. “Long time no see, stranger.”

A small smile graces her lips. He isn’t sure if she saw him at the funeral, at the court. Maybe she noticed his stalking her daily commute to the cemetery. Sometimes he would drive by her house, after knowing that she had shifted back to her old one, parked a few blocks down, just to feel her presence.

“Urm, I’m gonna -.”

“Are you busy?”

They laugh. It’s plenty awkward. They never had gone more than a year not talking to each other. Where does he even start?

“Do you wanna get coffee, maybe?” he asks, anticipating rejection.

She surprises him with a gentle smile and a ‘sure’.

He stirs his Americano, two sugars. She is blowing on her peppermint tea, looking out the window of The Bag Lady. “I’m sorry about Sam,” he says, then flinches, because he is not sure if it’s the right thing to say. Honestly, he’s not sure when is it ever okay to mention about somebody’s dead spouse.

He just doesn’t ever want to cause her to cry again.

She nods, looking down at her cup. “Thank you.”

“I’m here for you, kiddo. I am sorry I wasn’t before,” he says, his voice low.

“It’s okay, Scott.”

It is not okay. Above all that, they were best friends. Yes, his heart was broken, but it was in no fault of hers. “It’s really not, actually. I’m a horrible friend.”

“It’s okay, Scott.”

“I’m gonna make it up to you, and don’t say it’s okay.”

She looks at him, exasperated. “Fine. What do you want me to say?”

“Say you’re going to join me for lunch since I turn 34 today.”

Her eyes widen again. She quickly checks her phone before looking up to him apologetically. “Shit, Scott. I’m sorry. Happy birthday,” she says sweetly with a genuinely smile on her lips, and just like that, it is all he ever wants for his birthday.

* * *

**_Winter 2022_ **

She is in one of her funky moods.

He drops by to deliver her newly-sharpened skates. Well, he sharpens it from time to time in the hopes it might be enough to pull her to the rink. The last time they skated together was during TTYCT 2.0, before going their separate ways. It feels like it was a lifetime ago.

He knows it’s Valentine’s, he’s not a complete doorknob. He just isn’t sure, does he wish her or not? Would it make her sad? Or is he overthinking shit, like always?

He notices a bouquet of blue irises on the table. There’s a card. And he feels the familiar stir of jealousy.

“Why are you still here in London, Scott?” she asks from her place in the kitchen.

He frowns. “What do you mean? Am I supposed to be somewhere else? I don’t think I have anything else scheduled today?” he replies, stepping behind her near the counter. She is nursing a glass of wine, her eyes slightly glassy.

“Why aren’t you in Montreal?”

“Why should I be in Montreal, Tess? Is there any event that we were invited to?”

“Why are you back here? Why aren’t you coaching in Gadbois with Marie and Patch? Why are you wasting your talent here in London when you could be coaching champions in  Montreal?” she rants, her arm swinging, trying to emphasise her point.

He exhales. Finally he gets where this is going. “My home is here, Tess. My apartment is here. My shitty unfinished house is here too. My life is here. My coaching is here. You are here. Why would I need Montreal?”

“You don’t have B2Ten here. No Marie, no Patch, no Romain, no Sam. All the stars are in Montreal. You can live anywhere. It’s not like you have any weird attachment to your house,” she rebuts, clearly tipsy with how she is slightly slurring her S.

“But I’m kind of attached to you.”

Her face crumples.

He rushes to her side, patting her awkwardly on her back. They are not there yet, at the touchy-feely hugging stage. “Oh, shit! T, don’t cry,” he pleads.

“Why are you doing this? Why are you here?” she cries, her tears flooding down her face, followed by hiccups and snots.

“I’m doing what I want to do, T. I am here because I want to be here. You don’t have to worry about me,” he says, trying his best to convince her. He is here because he wants to be here for her, with her. But from the looks of things, she is not ready to hear that from him.

“Are you sure? Are you really really sure?!” she asks, half wailing, which is fucking crazy to think about, because Tessa never wails.

“I am. A thousand times yes, I am,” he replies adamantly, and watches as she breaks into more sobs, before he pulls her into his arms, hugging for the first time after almost two years.

* * *

**_Spring 2022_ **

“She’s not here.”

His smile drops, so does his bounce. “Oh. Any idea where she is?”

Lauren smiles apologetically. “Where she always is, Mr. Moir.”

He grabs his mouth.

“My boss is extra sad today,” Lauren continues, her gaze dropping, no longer in the mood to feast on the beauty that is Scott Moir. Instead, she gestures to a beautiful blue irises bouquet sitting on Tessa’s table.

His heart speeds up. “Who is it from?” he asks, before realising he doesn’t have the rights to.

“It’s from Sam.”

He snaps his head to face the blonde woman. “Not funny, Laur.”

“It is definitely not,” she confirms. “We found out that Sam set postdated flower delivery for his wife on special occasions, including her birthday. Maybe he was afraid of totally being a guy and forget important dates.”

Scott sighs. He realises how Tessa is quieter, a lot more than usual, after her drunken outburst back in February. Now he knows why. That flower delivery on Valentine’s.

“We just miss her. It’s like she’s barely existing. There’s no colours anymore.”

“I’m trying my best, Laur.”

She looks at him, maybe in pity, he is not sure. He’s pretty sure most of Tessa’s staff are aware of his… intention. But above all, he just wants her to be happy. Whatever the cost, whatever the method.

He steps out of the office and heads to his car. He sits in the air-conditioned vehicle, pondering on his move.

He runs a hand through his hair. Does he have a right to wish for tabula rasa? Is he aware that Tessa’s heart is probably irreparable, and it may belong to Sam now, probably for eternity? He is, but when it comes to Tessa Virtue, Virtue-Harwood now, he is always a glutton for punishment.

Maybe it’s time for him to visit Sam.

He’s paid visits to the cemetery before, of course. He’s visited his GMac quite often, and also his friend, Cakey. He was there during Sam’s funeral, recognises the location since he’s seen Tessa’s visits quite often from afar. The headstone is simple but elegant, something which was obviously Tessa’s doing, and it hits him how it was the final decision Tessa had to make as his wife.

Scott preps himself, still unsure. He’s scared all of the sudden, whether he has the right to be there, when a gentle wind suddenly blows, caressing his face.

He takes that as a sign, and braces himself, placing the blue gardenia on the stone. He thinks Sam must have liked blue, from his bouquets to Tessa.

“Hey, Sam. We have never really had a proper conversation before, eh? I’m sorry, my bad,” he starts.

“How’s heaven? I’m sure you’re one of those chillin’ next to JC, cause you were a good human being with the noblest profession and all that. Put in some good word for me, won’t ya, although I know I don’t deserve it, well, at least, not yet,” he continues, chuckling.

He runs a hand through his hair. “I just want to thank you. Thanks, man. I need the lesson, I guess. Even from the afterlife, you’re still loving her better than I’ve been. What I’m going to say next might make me an asshole. But I am asking your permission, and blessings, I guess,” he pauses, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“I want to make her laugh again. God, I’d be happy if she even smiles at me anymore. Just, give me some pointers, man. You knew her for only three years but it seemed like you understood her more than I did.”

“She’s barely living, and it breaks my heart to see her green eyes so sad nowadays. Man to man, we need to keep her happy. Because she owns both of our hearts. Is it okay if I ask for it to be my turn again, now?”

* * *

**_Summer 2022_ **

Days are even longer this year. He watches as she spirals deeper into a shell. Helplessness is not a new thing to him, but he feels at his wit’s end when it comes to pulling her out of her misery.

One particular hot summer night, he gives her a call after seeing her house empty for two consecutive nights. His head draws up multiple possible scenarios, but he feels comforted that if there’s anything bad happening, the Virtues would alert him of it. He thinks? He goes back three years ago where she had overdosed and nobody had informed him.

But he’s in the loop now, he reassures himself. He’s made peace with Jordan and Kate. Maybe even Kevin and Casey. At least, they look him in the eye when they are talking to him nowadays.

He calls her once. No answer. He attempts again, three times. The fourth, the ringtone goes on for awhile, before she finally picks up, the background noise muffling her voice.

“Where are you, T?”

“Foxy. Why are you blowing up my phone?”

His heart speeds up. “Which Foxy, Tessa?”

“Is there more than one Foxy?”

“You’re all the way in Montreal? When the fuck do you plan on telling me?” he explodes, feeling not in the loop after all.

“What’s going on?” she replies, her voice cautious.

He rubs his face, regretting his words. Not quite. “Fuck, Tess.”

“I’m not gonna talk to you if you’re gonna keep on cussing me.”

“I’m not cussing at you. Don’t you think I would want to know your whereabouts?”

“What the hell for? Since when am I obligated to inform you about my ‘whereabouts’?”

Well, a good point made, he thinks. He apologises quietly and hangs up before hearing her answer.

The next night, he buys a six-pack Molson on the way back from the rink. He’s past getting drunk in the pub nowadays, but he feels like forgetting certain things, hence getting sloshed in his own backyard sounds more attractive and minimising the potential risk of fucking things up. He’s been getting around getting his house ready, who knows for what, but he thinks it’s been sitting idle for some time now.

He is opening his second bottle when he hears the rustle of feet in the grass and looks up to see a figure approaching him in the dark.

“Drinking alone, Moir?”

It has been years since she has stepped foot into his property. Not since that clusterfuck back in 2018.

“Wanna join me?” he calls out. “Misery loves company.”

She appears under the porch light donning a short-sleeved navy suit dress, her heels slightly sinking in the grass. She looks so lovely it’s breaking his heart, despite the dark circles around her eyes.

Her face devoid of expression. “I know why I’m in misery. Why are _you_?” she questions, pulling a bottle from the pack resting on the table. She opens the cap expertly using the table edge; must be another trick she picked up from Sam. He wonders the things he doesn’t know about her, not that two decades of being with her before was enough to unfurl the mystery of one Tessa Virtue.

He eyes her settling down on the picnic chair next to him.

“You know why.”

She looks at him, taking a huge gulp from the bottle. “I don’t, actually.”

He takes a swing of his own beer. “It’s pretty obvious, really,” he says.

“I think you gotta spell it out for me.”

He holds her gaze, for minutes, or even hours, he doesn’t know, before pulling her bottle from her grasp. He watches her expression like a hawk. He pulls her up to her feet. Still her face is frozen.

He continues to pull her into the house, into the darkness of the kitchen, before pushing her against the counter, stepping into her personal space. Her jaw doesn’t move, her eyes unblinking.

He kisses her. Gently at first. Harder when she doesn’t respond. Her lips aren’t moving but her hands hike up his T-shirt. Then they are zipping down his jeans.

He pulls back, trying to look into her eyes. They don’t reflect anything back, in fact, they look lifeless.

Never once when they were fooling around didn’t she show some sort of emotions to his advances.

But she pulls on the collar of his shirt. Their chests collide. His hands on her hips and with one swift motion, securing her legs around his waist, before disappearing into his room.

* * *

**_Autumn 2022_ **

“Don’t leave.”

She steps into her jeans and buttons them up. “I need to go.”

“You can always bring your stuff here,” he tries, pulling the blanket to cover his torso. It is getting chilly.

She gives him a wan smile.

“Bye,” she says, before disappearing beyond his bedroom door. A few minutes later, he hears Sam’s 1969 Mustang starting up, before it drifts off into the night.

“Bye, T. I’ll see you tomorrow night,” he whispers to the silence.

* * *

**_Winter 2023_ **

It’s been years since the last time she had been at the Moirs’ Christmas party. 2017, to be accurate. 2018 was too shitty, he was too angry and he had another woman’s feelings to think about. The fact that he disregarded the feeling of the most important woman in his life, whom he had known for the past 21 years at that point, had never occurred to him.

“What’s gonna happen tomorrow?”

She is pulling her mittens on, preparing to go back to her place, as per usual. Two or more rounds of fucking, lacklustre kissing on her part, but earth-shattering blow jobs, a few spectacular orgasms later, she would leave him back to his devices. “Dinner at my mom’s.”

“Party at my parents’ tomorrow?” he puts it out there.

She smiles, a genuine one. She loves his parents and family, that much he knows off. In fact, she has bought gifts for all of them, all delivered to Alma’s to be opened the day after tomorrow. That never stopped despite 2018. “Yeah. Have fun.”

“I mean, come with me.”

“Nah. Go on, spend some time with your family.”

“You’re my family, T.”

She freezes. He holds his breath.

She walks to the doorway and pauses. “You know,” she says, without looking back. “That’s the thing about history. It’s there for a reason. Not to be forgotten. And to be taken as a lesson.”

His breath hitches.

“I’ll see you after the new year, Scott.”

* * *

**_Spring 2023_ **

There’s that gardenia again on the headstone.

She is not visiting Sam everyday anymore. She goes outstation to Montreal and New York frequently nowadays. Things are really looking up at the boutique. She has to hire more staff now, about fifteen of them. A few months ago, she has offered Gavin to be a share partner, and she’s grateful, for he has always been a lifesaver.

The blue gardenia has made an appearance several times now. She remembers it starting last year, coincidentally around her birthday, and she wonders if Sam had a family member in Canada that she wasn’t aware of. He was an orphan, left with a handsome inheritance, which went to her after his death. All the money in the world could not bring him back to her, so she donated some of the money to Brian’s wife and kids, and the rest went to some charities related to victims of drunk driving.

“Hey, baby,” she whispers. “Are you cheating on me with another woman I’m not aware of?” she jokes, fingering the petals of the beautiful gardenia.

She has stopped wearing her emerald, a few months now.

“Cause if you are, then I won’t feel so guilty telling you I’ve fallen into my bad habits again.”

A tear forms and rolls down her cheek. She’s been meaning to tell him for months, but the guilt keeps on eating her on the inside.

“I don’t know what I’m doing. Remember when you asked me that first time, about you being the one I should see? I’d been seeing you for three years, baby. Then it suddenly stopped. Last year I starting something with him. _I am so sorry._ I just missed you so much. I thought by being with him I’d be seeing you. I kept on thinking I’d be seeing you, but I didn’t, Sam. _I didn’t._ What’s happening? Why aren’t you in my head anymore, baby?”

She wipes the tears which are falling down like waterfall.

“Why am I seeing him, baby? Are you actually leaving me?”

* * *

**_Summer 2023_ **

She runs into Chiddy in Vancouver.

The reunion starts out good. She literally runs smack into him in Starbucks, which is convenient.

“How’s Liz? And baby Jesse?” she asks, falling down in her seat by the window.

Chiddy grins. It is so obvious to see how content he is with life. “They are good. Liz is going to be thrilled that I ran into you.”

She smiles. “Aww, I miss Liz too. How’s life as a father?”

“It’s amazing, Tess. I never thought it could be so fulfilling. Being responsible for the life of a person, shaping his future, it’s daunting, but exciting.”

She is so happy for him and Liz. “You are already off to a good start, Chiddy.”

“Thanks, Tess. Being a parent is wonderful. I hope you get to experience that too in the future.”

Her smile wavers. “We’ll see.”

“How are things with Scott?”

Her face brightens. “Well, from what I’m seeing, he’s doing an excellent job coaching. Do you know that Arina and Maxim are both willing to skate with him in London?”

“Yeah, he ran that by me. He also did rant something along the line, if only Tess would join me to choreograph,” he teases her.

“Nah. I’m done for good with skating.”

He looks at her, intrigued. “Why is that? You guys have skipped the SOI for years now. Will there ever be TYCT 3.0?”

She shrugs, taking a sip of her latte. “Well, you and Scott could always collaborate and run another one.”

“You were the brain of the entire operation, Tess. Scott and I, we were just the backbone.”

“We worked great together, eh?” she says, reminiscing. Despite the shit that hit the fan in 2018 and the strain between their friendship in 2019, they managed to put one beautiful show after another for their fans. That was all that mattered.

But now, she doesn’t have the energy to pretend anymore.

“Yeah, it was especially awesome to see you two create magic, on and off the ice.”

She flashes one of her half-hearted smile.

“Are you ever going to give him a break?” Chiddy suddenly asks.

“What do you mean?” she inquires, confused.

“You’re leading Scott on again..”

She feels her temper rising. “Excuse me?”

Chiddy averts his gaze to his own iced tea. “I’m sorry. I kept you in the dark when you deserved to know about Jackie.”

“You think I still care about that? All it proved to me was that you were never my real friend. So don’t give this shit about me leading him on. I don’t tell him to do things. He’s a grown ass man. He does what he wants.”

He looks up, pleading. “He loves you, T. You doing this to him is hurting him again.”

“Are you serious? What the hell am I doing that is supposed to hurt him?”

“Make up your mind, T. It’s either you want him or you don’t,” Chiddy blurts, before regretting his words later. Scott is never going to forgive him.

She stares at him, shaking her head in disbelief, before dropping her gaze. “I did. Four years ago.” She picks up her purse, and hastily stands up.

Chiddy follows suit, wary. “T, I’m sorry. Come on. Stay.”

“I’m sorry too. Send my regards to Liz and baby Jesse. See you around, Chiddy.”

* * *

**_Autumn 2023_ **

She stops going to his place right after coming back from Vancouver. It takes him a total of one day before dropping by her office demanding an explanation. Since that incident last summer where she went off to Montreal without informing him, she subtly lets him on her schedule, if at all just to ease his concern.

“I can’t do this anymore, Tess.”

The day has finally come. She shrugs. “Okay.”

His face crumples at her nonchalance. Her heart clenches, but when it comes to one Scott Moir, she is done putting her heart on the line for him.

He cups his forehead, shaking his head from side to side. “But I can’t imagine being with someone else.”

“What are you talking about? You were an expert jumping from one woman to another. Photographic evidence full on the internet, I’d say,” she says breezily, purposely trying to jab where it hurts.

“How many times do I have to say sorry for Jackie, Tessa? I'll do it. But how are we moving forward if you can’t ever forgive me?” he begs, pulling her hands in his.

“I don’t care to hear you being sorry, Scott. Two odd decades told me you are consistent, you shouldn’t be apologetic in your way. But don’t expect me to take it and go,” she replies, her gaze steady, her hands limp in his.

Him falling to his knees brings her back to five years ago, where he was pleading her in a similar tone. “I’m not that guy anymore. I swear, the past five years and Sam has taught me how to love you, when I didn’t love you enough before.

“I’m sorry it took so long for me to be here with you. I am grateful that you met Sam, he is a hell of a man, and you meeting him made me realise the consequences of losing you. For the first time, the narrative was different. It opened my eyes that you were never coming back to me, not anymore.

“But we are given a second chance here, T. To be together. To be each other’s pillars, like we used to be. Let me be your person again, Tess.”

She swipes the tears that fall on her cheeks angrily. Universe has been fucking with her for the past two and a half decades and she is done bottling is in. “I refuse to believe that my fate is with _you_. That out of _all_ the men in this world, I keep on ending up with _you_. The man who had hurt me countless times. The man who had left me more than once.”

Her words hit him and he stumbles backward on his knees. “What, do you want me to be the one who died, instead of Sam? Is that it?” he croaks, pointing to himself.

“Fuck you, Scott! Why do you talk shit like that? Why do you have to bring Sam up?” she cries, pushing him on his shoulders angrily.

He catches both her fists in his hands, trying to pull her down on him. “I’m the one who’s here, Tess. I’m the one who’s alive. Why can’t you live for me? Why do you keep on living for the dead?” he sobs.

“Because the dead brought me so much happiness the three short years we were together. You, on the other hand, broke my heart so many times the two decades we were not together. Do the math, Scott.” She pulls herself from his grasp roughly and marches to open her front door. “Please. Go. And don’t come back.”

* * *

**_Winter 2023_ **

He’s not there but he’s definitely there.

She is not making any sense.

That pink peonies arrangement at the corner of her room, for example. Every five days, she would get a new arrangement just to replace the old, drying ones. Every bouquet comes with some sort of captions, or quotes, or straight up Scott Moir romcom ™ speeches, which she collects and stores in the bottom drawer of her workstation.

She has lunch deliveries every single day, arriving at 12. The menu consists of everything he had ever cooked for her, especially back during their Montreal era, with a few addition from the past year of their co-existence. His culinary skill is at its peak, and begrudgingly, not a single bite go wasted.

She runs into him, at M&M a few times, the park about twice a week, the gym almost every other day. He would look at her, and she would avert his gaze, and he would respect the distance and send her off with a nod as if saying to take care.

She keeps on waiting for a new woman to be in town. Maybe running into them while having dinner downtown. Or shopping for groceries together at Metro. Or Alma updating Kate about her son’s dating status.

One card in particular she keeps in her purse reads:

“Because for as long as it takes, I’ll be here, Tess. I’m right here. I’m never going to give up on you. On us. I love you. Til the end of time.”

Just to remind herself when he surfaces with a new girlfriend, she’s going to rub it to his face that he is all talk, never more than that.

She is wrapping her gift for the Moirs when her phone rings in the middle of the night.

“Charlie?”

“Tess. Scott fell down at the rink and hit his head. He’s in the UH now.”

Her heart stops a beat.

She rushes to the hospital, her heart in her throat. She doesn’t notice the tears that flow. She parks her car haphazardly in the parking lot, dashing into the emergency ward. She is greeted by worried faces of Charlie, Joe and Alma. “How did he fall?” she demands.

“He was attempting a triple axel and landed on a crack.”

“Where is he?”

“He’s in CT. They suspect that he has a traumatic brain injury.”

She cups her mouth, disbelieving.

Charlie envelops her in a hug when she breaks down into more sobs. “He’s gonna be okay, T. He has a hard head. You of all people should know that,” he jokes lightly, despite the fear in his eyes.

_Epidural hematoma requiring surgery._ The doctors are going to drill a hole in his skull to drain the bleeding.

She is still listed as his ICE1 from their time in Montreal. When it comes to signing the consent form, she curses him under her breath as her hand shakes to the loops of her signature.

The operation is successful, according to the doctors. However, he is kept unconscious to reduce the pressure in the brain. It shouldn’t be more than three days, the surgeon says. On the fourth day, his sedation is reduced, he is extubated, and he is supposed to rouse to consciousness on his own.

Day five has come and gone. Day six is Christmas Eve. Tessa has yet to go back to resume wrapping her Christmas gifts. Kate has dropped by with her overnight bag, and she has taken resident on the chair next to his bed. Charlie and Danny have volunteered to take turns but she insists on them being present with their family, in order to reduce this gloominess at home.

The snow is falling particularly hard tonight, building steadily on the ledge. She plays with his left ring finger, flexing and pulling on it, trying to elicit a reaction. His bandaged head lies still, his eyes closed shut. The distant beeping of the monitors keeps her company when the rest of the world is silent.

“Hey. Do you remember last year when you invited me to go to your family’s annual party? Well, I’m ready to be taken there tonight, with a dress that matches your shirt. Like the stunt we used to pull back during the days," she whispers conspiratorially, smiling.

"I am ready to go back to your house, and sleep in your bed, and _never_ leaving, because I’m never going to leave you alone again. You’re reckless when you’re alone, pulling triple axels on less than perfect ice. What were you thinking, Scott Patrick Moir??" This time, her tone chiding. 

"I am ready to sample more of your cooking, while singing tunelessly to the many country songs on your iHome. But you gotta mix it up with my playlist, cause I swear I’m cooler nowadays, thanks to Sam. He had me schooled in the whole 90s alternative and rap department, you’d be so impressed, Scott.”

"And above all, I’m ready to be by your side forever. I am ready to wear your ring, the one you bought in Antwerp. I know you still have it in your drawer. I am ready to add to the Moir clan. However many you want. But we gotta start quick. I’m 34 this year, soon enough my eggs are gonna dry up and your chances of knocking me up with be low."

Her tears fall for the umpteenth time that week. "So you gotta wake up, baby. Wake up and be with me, wake up and marry me. How are we going to have kids with my eyes and your nose and your glorious hair if you’re going to sleep forever? Even if you don’t want to marry me anymore, just wake up, Scott,” she ends her whispering in his left ear, wiping tears on her cheeks. “I need you to wake up and love me. You were everything. You will always be everything.”

She buries her cheek against his, inhaling his powdery scent courtesy of her daily sponge bath for him. She sobs, letting the tears to wet both their cheeks, crying about their crazy past, their tumultuous present, crying about an uncertain future.

She isn’t sure how long it is before the monitors start beeping erratically. As fast as it comes, the beeping soothes down as quickly a few seconds later. She panics, gripping his hand tighter and lifts up her head to look at his face.

His eyelids are fluttering, as his lips move, tongue out as if to wet his bottom lip. Tessa freezes. “Scott?”

“Hey, baby,” he croaks. “Do you mean what you said?” he asks, eyes bleary but smiling.

She sobs harder, kissing his hand. “I do. I really do.”

“Then don’t cry. I’ll make it for you. And we’ll make it together. Til the end of time.”

**Author's Note:**

> I am sorry, I am trying to purge my whatever through this series and I think I'm done. Maybe I'll rest from this fandom for awhile. On a different note, at least this has a happy ending, eh? Merry Christmas, of Merry Boxing Day, kind reminder that your credit card balance will still be carried forward next year. Love you all, and do leave me some love too :)


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